When Darkness Turns to Light
by Dmarx
Summary: "Let me get this straight," Lanie recaps. "You're on a date with someone else because you assume Kate doesn't have feelings for you, but you don't actually know that for sure?" Takes place anytime between The Limey and Undead Again. Two-shot. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

_Kinda sorta based on a prompt from Lou & Anja. Hopefully this is somewhat similar to what you guys had in mind._

 _Title taken from It Ends Tonight by The All-American Rejects._

 _Disclaimer: if you recognize it from the show, it's safe to say it's not mine_

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

"Castle."

He whirls around at the familiar voice, finds himself face to face with the short but imposing frame of a very dressed up Lanie Parish.

"Uh, hey Lanie," he stammers, unable to keep from noticing the low cut of her dark green dress, the way it emphasizes her ample…

"Don't even think about it," she snaps, crossing her arms, and he tears his eyes from her chest, forces them up to her face. She doesn't look happy to see him, and he's pretty sure it's not because he was just checking her out. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on a date," he answers with a shrug, gesturing around the fancy restaurant. It's a Friday night in Manhattan, why wouldn't he be on a date? "Why does it matter?"

Lanie's eyes narrow. "Because you're here with some blonde."

"So?"

"Don't play dumb with me."

Castle gestures towards the door where his driver is already waiting with the car. "Look, I have to go."

"Oh no you don't," Lanie demands, her tone leaving no room for argument. She paces around until she's between him and the exit. He could easily push her out of the way or step around her but they both know he won't. "Not 'til you tell me what the hell is going on."

"There's nothing going on," he insists, shuffling from foot to foot, anxious to make his escape. Rachelle, the beautiful woman he met earlier this afternoon, is waiting for him; and even if she wasn't, he isn't keen on being on the receiving end of one of Lanie's lectures.

"Bullshit," she calls him out. "You don't get to spend four years flirting with Beckett and then suddenly decide to go back to flaunting a bunch of blonde bimbos."

"I…she…that's not…" he splutters, taken aback by the fierceness of Lanie's glare. She raises an eyebrow in challenge and oh, crap. She's actually going to make him say it, isn't she?

"There isn't anything between Beckett and me," he finally states with a sigh, running his hands over his face, and when they drop away Lanie can see the utter heartbreak, brushstrokes of defeat painted through his features. "There never was."

"Come again?" she questions in shock, and her glare softens somewhat as she witnesses the writer's devastation. She marched over here intent on sticking up for her best friend, but she can see now that Castle is in just as much pain as Kate is, can see the unshed tears shimmering over the dull blue of his eyes.

"I thought my feelings were, you know," he trails off with an aimless gesture. Lanie cocks her head, not following him at all. "Mutual," he sighs, eyes falling shut to hide the pain. He's horrified when a tear slips free, hastily wipes it away with a swipe of his thumb. "Turns out I was just kidding myself."

"Mmhmm," Lanie mutters, uncrossing and re-crossing her arms with the opposite limb on top this time. "And did Kate tell you this?"

"Indirectly," he answers with a shrug, eyes firmly fixed on the ground. He squeezes them shut again, swallows hard to force it all away. He's already in enough pain and verbalizing it is only rubbing salt in the still-bleeding wounds.

"Let me get this straight," Lanie recaps, and she doesn't sound at all amused. "You're on a date with someone else because you assume Kate doesn't have feelings for you, but you don't actually know that for sure?"

Well, when she puts it like that...

But no. It's not like that. Beckett lied, strung him along, broke his heart. If she cared at all, she wouldn't treat him like this.

Lanie places a tentative hand on Castle's shoulder, waits until he finally tears his focus away from his feet. The unbridled pain in his eyes when he meets her gaze at last breaks her heart.

"Look, I don't know what was said or what wasn't or why," she begins. He opens his mouth to speak but Lanie raises her other hand to stop him. "And frankly, I don't care."

"Then why exactly are we doing this?" he inquires, defiance overtaking the broken edges of sadness as he folds his own arms across his chest.

"You're a grown ass man, so I'm not gonna tell you what to do," Lanie states firmly. "But I will say this. Somewhere along the way, there's been a massive miscommunication."

"No, there hasn't," he insists.

Lanie's hands fall to her hips, posture more commanding than ever. "Yes, there has." Castle parts his lips but once again, Lanie simply barrels on. "And if the two of you would ever actually _talk_ to each other, all of this coulda been avoided. Now," she tosses a glance over her shoulder, "I have to get back to my date. I'll see you on Monday."

And with that she strides away, leaving Castle frozen in place. But her words are on the move, already bouncing around his brain and forcing his rational side into an unsolicited war against his broken heart. He can't decide which one is winning. Or which one he wants to win.

Castle sighs, leaning back into the half wall separating the entryway and hostess stand from the remainder of the restaurant. His head thumps a little too hard against the smooth wooden paneling but he doesn't notice, numb to anything other than the crushing agony that's been compressing his chest since the moment he learned the truth.

He wants to believe the ME, wants to believe that there _has_ been a miscommunication, that Kate _does_ actually care about him. Her behavior over the past few months suggests that she does. And after their conversation on the swings last fall, he'd been pretty sure they were on the same page; that he was waiting for her, for _them._

But her words – or, rather, lack thereof – tell a very different story. A story that's torn his heart to shreds in his chest.

He doesn't know what to believe anymore. All he knows is that he's on his seventh date and his third woman since he found out and he's still as heartbroken as ever.

He thought blonde and uncomplicated would be the perfect recipe for getting over her.

Instead, it's only served to remind him of all the reasons he loves brunette and stubborn and frustrating and complicated as hell. All the reasons he loves _her_.

"Richard?" the gentle voice precedes the touch of a palm to his forearm. "Everything okay?"

Castle lifts his head and turns, hoping he's sufficiently concealing his anguish, but he can instantly tell from Rachelle's expression that he's not.

"Fine," he lies anyway, forcing a smile and offering his elbow. "Ready to go?"

She doesn't take the proffered limb, takes a step back. "I think I'll just take a cab."

He drops his arm, nods in understanding. It's been a fairly lackluster first date anyway, and he really just wants to be alone right now. "I think that's probably for the best."

She rests a hand on his bicep, presses a parting kiss to his cheek. "Thanks for dinner. Whatever it is, I hope it all works out."

And then she's gone.

* * *

"What's goin' on with him?" Esposito asks as Lanie slides back into the booth across from him. They're not back together, per se, but witnessing her reprimanding Castle just now is reminding him of a few of the reasons they never should've broken up in the first place.

"I dunno," the ME admits, eyes on Castle as he and the tall, slim blonde part ways. "But I swear to God, if he and Beckett don't have things sorted out by Monday I'm gonna lock 'em in a supply closet until they do."

* * *

 _TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all for your wonderful feedback! And again, thanks to Lou and Anja for the prompt and Andy for the beta :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

The ringing of Kate's phone slices through the darkness and she sets aside her glass of Merlot, fumbles for the device that's fallen somewhere down in the cushions of her sofa.

"Beckett," she answers absentmindedly, her demeanor quiet and deflated.

"I ran into Writer Boy tonight," the voice on the other end of the line states without preamble.

"Lanie, can we not?" she huffs with a sigh. She really just wants to make it through one evening without dwelling on the source of her broken heart. If sitting on the sofa in the dark, drinking wine and staring blankly at the movie playing on her laptop counts as 'not dwelling on it.'

"No," her friend states abruptly. "We're doing this. Because he's as heartbroken as you are."

"I'm sure," Kate deadpans.

"I don't know the details," Lanie states bluntly. "But you need to go talk to him. Right now."

Kate sighs heavily, dropping her forehead into her free hand. "He's the one being a jackass," she mumbles.

"Because he thinks you don't care about him," the ME states flatly. She's done dancing around this, done allowing these two to make assumptions and avoid conversations when they're so blatantly in love with one another.

She nearly drops the phone as her heart rate spikes and a wave of nausea overtakes her. "What?"

"Like I said," Lanie reiterates. "Go talk to him."

Kate is already rising from the couch, tugging on her jacket as she thanks her friend and hangs up the phone. It's after ten on a Friday night, and she has no idea what kind of welcome she's going to receive, if she'll be welcomed at all.

All she knows with certainty is that she loves him. And if he's as heartbroken as Lanie says he is, then maybe that means he still loves her too. Maybe there's something salvageable amongst the crumbled wreckage of the last ten days.

She's in a cab before her brain even registers that she's left the building, foot tapping impatiently against the floor mat as they make their way to SoHo. They seem to hit every light red, and more than once she considers getting out and running the rest of the way. Instead, she forces herself to focus, but her mind is racing and her heart is fluttering nervously and the words won't coalesce, and by the time the cabbie is dropping her off she still doesn't have a clue what she's going to say.

She races into Castle's building, sparing a quick greeting for Eduardo as she dashes through the lobby and up the stairs. She doesn't care that she has to climb to the top floor, she just knows that she can't be confined in an elevator right now. She needs to be moving.

But when she finally arrives outside his door, she makes herself pause and take a deep breath, gathering her courage and every ounce of stubbornness she can muster. She's not leaving without answers, even if it means she has to sit on the floor outside his door and wait for him. He's been waiting for months. Now it's her turn.

With a trembling finger she depresses the buzzer, shoves both hands into her pockets, and holds her breath.

The silence stretches, unbearable, and she's about to sink down to the ground when she hears the faint echo of footprints growing steadily nearer. She takes a deep breath, steels herself, and then the door swings open.

"Kate," a surprised voice exclaims, though it lacks it usual exuberance and accompanying smile.

"Martha," she stammers awkwardly. She wonders if his mother knows what's happening and finds herself with the sudden urge to apologize for whatever she's done to cause this rift. "I was just…is Castle here?"

The older woman steps back, allows her in, and Kate tentatively crosses the threshold into the loft.

"He's in his office," Martha offers with a gesture in that direction. "Looking about as cheerful as you do."

Kate spares her a grateful smile, speaks in a low voice. "Thank you."

* * *

When she steps into the doorway, it's to the sight of a sullen shell of her partner slumped in his desk chair in the dark, head pressed back into the leather, eyes screwed shut, hand clutching a tumbler of scotch so hard his knuckles are white.

"Castle," she whispers.

His eyes fly open and he jerks in surprise, nearly upending the glass.

"Beckett, what are you doing here?" The words are strained, harsh.

"Lanie called," she answers. "Said you were as miserable as I am." She glances pointedly around the darkened room. "I'd have to agree."

"I highly doubt that," he counters, taking a swig of scotch and relishing the burn that's been slowly dulling the ache in his chest. Although, now that Ka – Beckett, he corrects himself – is here, it's back with a vengeance.

"Rick, what's going on?" Kate asks softly, unwilling to be deterred by the unyielding barrier he seems to have erected between them. She's spent the last few months demolishing her own wall, and she'll do it all over again with his right now if she has to.

He snorts derisively, takes another drink. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously," she persists, crossing her arms over her chest and resting her right shoulder against the doorframe. "I clearly did something to upset you, and…"

"Why do you even care?" he interrupts indignantly, slamming the glass onto the desktop in time with his angry words.

"Because I want my partner back," she confesses, the words tumbling out in supplication, but she doesn't care. She'll beg, plead, do whatever she has to in order to get through to him. He opens his mouth, probably to dispute her statement, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Because I've spent the last eight months in therapy so I could heal and knock down my wall and be _ready_ , and now I am and you…" she trails off, lips pressing together into a tight line and eyes squeezing shut to force back the onslaught of tears.

"I what?" he prompts, voice less livid now, more unsure.

She drops her chin to her chest, shakes her head with a heavy sigh. "I thought you were waiting for me."

"I was," Castle admits.

The first tear escapes at his use of past tense. "Why did you stop?"

"What was I waiting for to begin with?" he challenges.

Kate swipes at her damp cheeks, seeks his eyes in the darkness and finds their cerulean depths swirling with pain. "Me," she answers, as though it was obvious. She thought it had been, but maybe that's where they went wrong. "Us."

Castle leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk, head falling into his hands. It's late and he's exhausted and confused and he's on his fourth glass of scotch and he's just so damn sick of pretending his heart isn't in a thousand tiny fragments in his chest.

"Then why did you lie?" he asks after an uncomfortable stretch of silence.

She furrows her brow in confusion. "What are you…?"

Oh.

Kate trails off as it dawns on her, because there's really only one lie he could possibly be talking about.

"How did you find out?" she asks softly, and it's not the right thing to say, not at all, but she needs to know. Needs to understand the chain of events that caused everything to unravel.

"The bombing case," he answers, forehead still cradled within his palms. "I heard you in the interrogation room."

Kate sighs heavily, drops her chin to her chest. Suddenly everything makes sense. Why he left her coffee and disappeared that day, why he suddenly didn't want to talk to her, didn't want to go out for a drink with her when the case was over. Why he's been acting as though merely being in her presence makes him nauseous.

"I'm sorry," she offers finally, but he doesn't meet her apologetic gaze. "I never meant for you to find out like that."

Castle scoffs, lifts his head and fixes her with a glare. "You mean, you never meant for me to find out at all," he amends. "So I could just go on pretending there was actually something worth waiting for."

"Rick," she implores, "that's not…" Kate shakes her head, tries again. "I lied because I had a hole in my chest and a man who wanted me dead and a boyfriend and I couldn't deal with any of it, so I tried to forget. But I never wanted to forget forever."

Castle's features soften slightly and she can see the intrigue color his eyes as her words pique his interest, so she continues. "After the bombing case, when I asked you for a drink? I was gonna tell you that night."

"Tell me what, exactly?" he inquires, because he thinks he might understand through the haze of scotch and heartbreak, but if he's learned anything from the past four hours it's that they need to be absolutely clear in their communication from here on out.

"That I remember," she states confidently now that she has his full attention. "That your words were the only thing that got me through the most painful parts of my recovery. I just kept reminding myself that you loved me and that everything I was doing was so I'd be mentally and emotionally strong enough to be honest with you."

"And are you?" he queries, hope and fear mingling in his expression as he raises an eyebrow and parts his lips.

"Yes," Kate confesses. She pushes off the door frame and he watches her approach with wary eyes, twisting in his chair until she's squatting down in front of him and resting gentle hands on his knees. His muscles tense beneath her tender touch, slowly relax as he takes a deep breath and forces himself to exhale steadily.

Her gaze is fixed on her hands, on the warmth of his skin and the way the bony curves of his patellae fit so nicely into her palms. Her left thumb moves of its own accord, brushing gently across the inside of the joint as she lifts her eyes to his. Castle is still watching her cautiously, eyes guarded.

Kate offers him a soft smile, feels it widen as she sets free the second truth she's been hiding for far too long.

"Castle, I'm in love with you."

* * *

 **END**

* * *

 _#CaskettTFLN: I guess I can check "drink alone in the dark" off my bucket list_

 _Prompt: takes place during the 47 seconds arc, Castle & Beckett separately talking to Lanie_


End file.
